Big White Room: Part 3
by SemiPrecious17
Summary: "You're trying so hard to be what he needs." Companion piece to the companion piece. Final installment in the Big White Room Trilogy. Hope you all enjoy! Potential triggers,sexual themes, slash,mature content...possible happy ending? Genre 3: Hurt/comfort


Author: semiprecious17  
>Rating: R<br>Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance  
>Pairing: Kurt Blaine  
>Spoilers: None<br>Warnings: sexual themes, potential triggers, Implied rape in previous chapters  
>Word Count: 838<br>Summary: Kurt and Blaine's relationship a few months after Kurt is raped. 

A/N: OK! the third and final installment in what was originally a oneshot *sigh* I'm a terrible person because I promised this last Saturday, but RL mixed with writer's block mixed with a complete lack of self-motivation dragged this back a few days...SORRY 3 please enjoy all the angsty goodness (with a happy ending? I don't know, you'll just have to find out...*grins evilly*) You're trying so hard to be what he needs.

But the wall he puts up is impenetrable, a fortress of pain and loneliness. It kills you being on the outside, rips you to bloody pieces. You beg him to let you in, to talk to you, to let you be his rock.

Even with your pleading, it's over two months before he lets you do more than kiss him; a soft, hungry press of your lips against his, desperate in its tenderness.

You let your hands wander like you so want to. You push up his t-shirt and press your palms against all that pale skin, claim what's yours with lips skimming over every surface of silky skin that he'll allow.

You're in your senior year when you first make love.

You meet hazel with blue afterwards, tell him how perfect he is, brush away the tears that escape his eyes, then do the same to your own.

You tell yourself you don't mind that he always has to be on top; you can give him that conrol…sure, it's no problem.

But sometimes?

Sometimes the darkest corner of your mind rears its head.

Sometimes _you_ want the control.

You have this fantasy- this _sick_ fantasy, you tell yourself- of holding him down with your weight, pinning his wrists to the bed, pushing into that tight, delicious heat you only rarely get to experience. You'd make him take every inch of you, fuck him until you're sated and boneless, leave your mark in fingertip shaped bruises on his hips.

Afterwards your stomach churns. You can't look him in the eye.

How could you even _think_ that?

If Kurt ever found out he'd never forgive you; his emotions are volatile enough without you adding fuel to the fire.

They're like a riptide; they leave you breathless and empty. One moment he's clinging to you, sobbing, begging you never to leave, never to let him go. The next, he's avoiding your gaze, pushing you away.

It takes up all the space in your lungs; there's no room for your own confusion and anger and pain.

You often argue; bitter words that sting, and heated looks that seem tangible in the air. He's so angry, so bitter. It breaks your heart along those same fracture lines; you're not sure they'll ever fully heal.

You don't want to yell back, but he knows you so well, knows exactly what to do to make you snap, how to make your fists clench and your lips peel back in anger. You give as good as you get…even as you wish it wasn't you who made his eyes fill with aqua tears, cheeks growing red and wet with them.

When Kurt storms out the door, as he always inevitably does, you deflate. You never knew your throat could feel so tight with unspoken words: _come back, I love you, please don't walk away, I never want to hurt you._

You're always _so fucking scared_ that this time he won't come back.

He'll find someone who can love him properly, who can heal him, take away the pain.

It's only a matter of time.

It's Kurt's guilt that hurts you the most, though. You see it in his eyes when you reach out to touch the curve of his jaw in apology. You see it in the way his body tenses when you tell him how much you love him.

He doesn't believe you.

Why can't he believe you?

Why _won't _he believe you?

_God_ it's hard, watching him blame himself. So hard you wonder at times if it's worth it, if _he's_ worth it.

But when you close your eyes at night and try to imagine your life with out him, without him singing show tunes softly in your ear and running his fingers through the curls you've finally stopped matting down with gel, your chest grows tight and you have to fight the impulse to go to him. Fight the urge to clutch him to your chest, to hold him like you did that first night, in his big white room, all those long months ago.

Things seemed more hopeful then.

You were naïve.

In some ways you still are.

But if that naïveté means that you continue to struggle and battle against that damnable wall, if it means that some day Kurt will come eagerly, willingly, into your embrace, that he'll stop picking fights so you have an excuse you leave him, then you'll cling to it with all your might.

You'll never give up on him.

You're going to adopt children that Kurt will scold you for spoiling, have holidays with both sides of the family present, buy a house with a fireplace and a big backyard, and have two giant dogs that will abide the children with long suffering good nature.

You're going to grow old together, content in the conviction of your love.

You'll break down Kurt's wall and build hope in its place.

You're going to marry him some day.


End file.
